Fall of the Cerberus

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

         The skiff drifted through the vast void of space; its dark, metallic exterior reflecting brightly in the half eclipsed sun. The planet below glowed a healthy green, as though an entity in itself. Although surprisingly void of ocean, it was a remarkably humid world, which had made it a prime target for colonization.

         At the moment, Drinn sat in the copilot’s seat, surveying the planet through a viewing window to his right, his dark green eyes and short black hair reflecting slightly in the window like a specter. Although only twenty-eight, signs of gray had already begun to sprout throughout his hair, and his face, though still youthful, boasted experience beyond his years.

         Drinn shielded his eyes with his hand, as the planet they now orbited only suppressed a good half of the sun’s blinding light. He was not fooled, however, by the docile aura the planet seemed to project. Closer inspection had revealed scars on its surface, scars that only war would have wrought.

                   Many of the few cities on the planet were on the edge of ruin, signs of destruction noticeable even from the skiff’s position in low-orbit. Flashes still bloomed from the wreckage, contrasting the cities from their lush outlaying environment. A large patch of the planet’s drier southern hemisphere also seemed to glow with a red taint, its green mass now an earthy brown. Wildfire, as Drinn could recall, was somewhat common to Shinar’s grasslands, but would be hard pressed to push into the moist jungle ringing thick around the equator.

                   The captain turned his gaze from the planet, and began scanning the various scraps of junk and debris hovering past the small transport; evidence of an earlier battle. Although kilometers away from their position, the twisted remains of the once proud vessels seemed ghostly as they passed on their way through their newfound orbit, sending a chill down the captain’s back.

                   The ravages of war had begun two standard weeks before, when the Federation had dispatched a small battalion of military-class frigates through the jump-gate to reinforce the garrison of the increasingly boisterous colonies on Shinar.

                   Unbeknown to the Federation, however, the colonialists had already overthrown the government in place, intel received too late.

                   Unsuspecting of a trap, the military deployment had exited the gate straight into an ambush. The massacre lasted a mere two minutes according to reclaimed black-boxes, an attack that had enraged the worlds of the Federation to the core.

                   Drinn sighed sullenly. Rebellions were something no civilization could go without; simple growing pains according to the higher-ups. But Drinn knew what “growing pains” meant: confusion and death. And lots of it.

                   Of course Drinn was far from sympathizing with any revolt, especially this one. The colony hadn’t been mistreated as far as he could tell. Just a bit ousted away from federation politics. But then again, Shinar was but a simple colony, so was therefore not nearly as strongly represented as Corrin or any other Inner-state. Not to mention the colony owed its very existence to the Federation, which had waged a small campaign, ending in the submission of the Tu-kran, the original dominant species of Shinar. Tall and bulky, these reptilian humanoids had been assimilated into the Federation, and even lived among the colonials as well. Although sly and fairly intelligent, the Tu-kran still firmly held on to many rather superstitious traditions. Drinn only hoped that the majority of the Tu-kran had stayed out of this conflict. Even without advanced technology, they had made that one hell of a campaign.

                   After Shinar’s initial jump into rebellion, mobilization had begun immediately. The fifteen worlds of the Federation had managed to approve a siege on Shinar in record time, damning the rebellion as “an immediate threat to the unity of the Federation.” The assembly had not gone without dissent, however, as many of the Outer-states believed conflict would only hurt their relationship with their own colonies. The irresolution had been quenched in the end by the Elite-general of the military, Arden Nock. His philosophy on the subject had been simple; rule with a kind hand if possible, but be prepared to curl it into a fist when necessary, otherwise the appendage would be lost. Drinn personally loved blunt politics. It cut through aristocratic beurocracy, and straight into the heart of the matter.

                   After nearly two standard weeks of mobilization, the fleet had just managed to exit the jump-gate only twelve hours ago. Anticipating an ambush on the other end, the Federation had sent a prototype P-29 missile to flush out the area. Of course, the P-series was based on an EMP platform, and had therefore ended up disrupting electric-based technology throughout half the planet, making the colony mincemeat. The Federation proceeded likewise.

                   After taking out the few paralyzed ships staking guard around the jump-gate, the fleet began tactical bombing of the planet from orbit. And now, twelve hours later, Drinn and his team were cleaning up.

                   Drinn watched collectively as a rather large piece of debris came steadily toward the small skiff; remains of what perhaps used to be the bulk of a Federation missile frigate. It seemed no one had bothered to clean up the last mess.

                   The skiff continued to head toward the obstacle, and neatly swerved around it, doing a lazy three-sixty as it missed collision by mere meters. Although used to worse situations, the captain couldn’t help but tighten his grip on his seat. Completely uncalled for.

                   A simple transport skiff, the ship lacked many technologies greater ships in the fleet possessed, including the ability to jump, which was fairly common of ships in its class. The ship was actually usually housed within the Dauntess, the flagship of the fleet. Although lacking weaponry and heavy armor, the ship was unique in that it held a plethora of short-range sensors; equipment critical to the success of the mission given to Drinn’s platoon.

                   Drinn yawned deeply, and began to massage his temples, attempting unsuccessfully to relax into his co-pilot seat. As a soldier, he was accustomed to skipping sleep. He would not, however, ever get used to wearing the damn vitality pack connected to his hip, which shot complex sugars and other blood additives straight into his bloodstream.  Even though it granted the user with enough energy to stay awake and alert for days at a time, it also gave the user an uncomfortable tense feeling throughout the body after about twelve hours of use. Drinn had been coming up to twenty.

                   Giving up on trying to ease his stressed body, Drinn turned his gaze unto the pilot to his left.

                   Perhaps even more unusual than the heavily modified skiff was the pilot herself. Born and raised to a powerful house on Corrin, Arriah grew up nurtured like any other girl, except for the fact that she herself was not entirely human.

                   She was one of the Shold, a hybrid race, which shared both alien and human genes.

                   The Shold had come into being as a result of human interaction with a much older, more advanced race known as the Abarri. They had commanded great power over the natural realm, though scholars continued to debate whether this form of “psionics” was developed naturally or not. Either way, the Abarri had long lost the ability to reproduce sexually, instead mentally impregnating one another. In this way had they been able to endow upon mankind the gift of the Shold. Though the Abarri would eventually cease all contact with the humans, the Shold would remain.

                   Resembling much like humans, the Shold were elegantly thin, possessing delicate facial features and often silver-white hair. The most distinct characteristic of the Shold, however, was their skin, which while surprisingly supple, was a light gray, almost purplish color. The Shold were also only able to support hair on their scalp, the rest of their body seemingly lacking hair follicles.

                   Arriah turned and met his gaze grinning, her distinct almond eyes seeming to see with a surprisingly knowing look. Most people would agree that the Shold were able to…sense things. Drinn made a mental note to ward his thoughts around her.

                   “You okay Captain? You seem a bit…tense.” Arriah asked teasingly, though Drinn noted a touch of concern in her stunning gray eyes. She knew he didn’t like it when she showed off.

                   Drinn took a deep breath and slumped into his copilot seat. “Oh, I’m fine. Just wish the Federation hadn’t condemned sleeping as obsolete.” Damn if he didn’t sleep like a dead man when this was over. He just hoped the Fates wouldn’t take that statement too literally.

                   Arriah laughed lightly, turning her attention back to the controls. Most of the Shold rather disdained the use of vitality packs. Of course, their physiology somehow exempted them from the need for one, but Arriah was a seasoned soldier herself and was familiar with the side-effects.

                   Unlike other soldiers, who wore standard issue combat armor, Arriah preferred her gray pilots jacket; the collar seeming intent on hiding her thin neck. She had also refused to cut her hair short, her hair instead flowing into a single ponytail. Drinn couldn’t help but admire her beauty.

                   A small beeping began in the cockpit, almost a chirp. Arriah flipped a switch to her left and checked a small screen on the console. Drinn could feel the engine slowing.

                   Arriah eased herself deeper into her seat, a slightly more serious expression plastered onto her face. “Docking with the Cerberus in five minutes captain. You’d better prep' your team.”

                   Drinn nodded, unclipping his restraining belt, and slowly made his way out of the cramped cockpit toward the only other compartment on the ship. Walking in the low gravity produced by the skiff was fairly easy, if awkward, but Drinn kept hold of the hand-grips jutting from the ceiling. Travel through a cluttered orbit was rarely smooth.

                   Manipulating a panel on the wall, Drinn shuffled through the newly opened doorway and into the main hold.

                   Ten men of Drinn’s platoon sat along the walls to either side of the doorway, each bearing an R-850 rifle. Each wore light tactical armor and protective, visored helmets-all black, along with vitality packs. Drinn personally hated the helmets; they provided only minimal protection, and seemed to block his peripherals. He had accustomed himself to losing the helmet whenever it was issued to him. He could count more than once his full field of vision had saved his skull.

                   The rifle on the other hand he loved dearly. With little kick-back, it fired off eight-millimeter rounds coated in a powerful magnesium ion. When shot, the bullet would ignite, allowing the projectile to burn right through a target, and even catalyze a wound on contact. The inventors had thought it more humane. Drinn though it ironic.

                   Down near the back of the hold was the one man Drinn recognized out of the bunch. Like Arriah, Marks also wore a simple pilots jacket, and his relaxed demeanor seemed to radiate the antithesis of standard military behavior, though Drinn personally couldn’t have picked anyone else he’d rather have guarding his flanks. Marks and Arriah were probably also the only certified veterans aside from himself on the ship at that.

                   At the very back of the hold stood Marks’s MIU, a nine-foot tall goliath of metal and firepower. Although a fine MIU operative, Marks seemed to spend more time engineering them these days than actual piloting. At the moment the MIU was hunched over, inactive, though Drinn could still sense its potential for destruction.

                   Standing in the doorway for a moment, Drinn quickly gave his team a field evaluation. This particular platoon had recently graduated from a military academy on Corrin. He hadn’t had time on the Dauntess take mind of his team, but aside from the vitality packs’ effects, they gave off a sense of excitement; a mingling of fear and apprehension. He guessed it would do. No, it would have to do.

                   “Okay men,” Drinn began, his voice dominating the small area. One of the soldiers even jumped. Jumpiness wouldn’t do. “We dock with the Cerberus in approximately five minutes. The mission status hasn’t changed. We come in, activate the sequence, and get out as quickly as possible. Lock-down is still active, so there’s no reason to pack heavy. Personally, I doubt that we’ll come across formidable resistance, if any.” A few soldiers began to relax slightly, theirs fears somewhat lessened. “However,” Drinn emphasized the word, turning all heads back toward him. “My opinion is not of importance. Do I make myself understood?”

                   “Yes, captain!” The hold shouted in unison, with exception of Marks, who continued to type swiftly into a computer attached to his fore-arm.

                   Drinn nodded, satisfied. This naive bunch seemed to be in high spirits at least. Watching his men strap up for a moment, Drinn walked down the short aisle, stopping in front of a young fiery-headed soldier busy strapping a field knife onto his shin. His name was Ratch, the team’s demolitions expert. Although only about twenty years of age, he was fully capable according to his records. Looking up from his work, the youth questioned the captain’s presence with oddly blue eyes.

                   Drinn unclipped a small pack from his waist and tossed it at the youth, who caught it clumsily. “Backup charges in case the automated ones on board don’t cut it.” Drinn stated simply. “Of course,” he continued, “They probably won’t be needed. From what I heard, defense liners have pretty reliable suicide systems. But bring them all the same.” Ratch nodded, and stuffed the bag inside his vest.

                   Continuing down the line, Drinn settled into a seat opposite from Marks, who continued to work on his small computer. Drinn tensed up in alarm as light-blue lights began to blossom on the MIU on his right, a small humming sound emitting from it.

                   Marks finally looked up from his computer, grinning at Drinn. Marks had what some people may have called a gentle face, but Drinn knew him for the crude, somewhat brilliant engineer he was.

                   Regaining his composure, Drinn focused his attention on the MIU, attempting to ignore his sudden breach of discipline. “So what exactly have you been up to?” Drinn inquired, leaning in to inspect the MIU’s arm. Definitely new.

                   “Oh, same old thing, new contractors.” Marks said, glancing down at the screen on his arm. “It’s a prototype,” he continued, flourishing a hand toward the machine. “My employers thought this would be the perfect time for a field test.”

                   Drinn nodded, knowing better than to question who had commissioned the MIU. After all, a few of the projects Marks worked on in the past officially never existed. He was intrigued nonetheless.

                   “You know,” Marks began, looking up from his diagnostics. “I know damn good surgeon who could probably remove that old scratch.”

                   Drinn absently felt the scar running down the left side of his neck, white with age.

                   “I find it a great reminder,” Drinn replied half sarcastically, his mind reflecting back on the incident. A member of his outfit had tried to go AWOL nearly four years ago, attempting to slit Drinn’s throat in the process. He had just only dodged the blunt of the swipe; more luck than skill. The skirmish had ended with a bullet in the other man’s temple. Even then, Drinn had nearly bled to death.

                   “You should have let him be,” Marks said, as if reading Drinn’s thoughts.

                   “He would’ve stolen your ship,” Drinn responded bluntly, not sure what Marks was getting at. “And you would’ve been the one with a flap in your neck.”

                   “True, true.” Marks replied dismissively, going back to his computer. “But then I would’ve gotten the chance to kill the backstabbing coward myself.”

                   Drinn smirked, turning his attention once again on the MIU. The ‘Mechanized Infantry Unit’ was free from any sign of wear, not a scratch on it. About half again taller than himself, the machine’s body took a somewhat vertically oval shape; a similarly shaped tinted viewing window presiding down the front. The torso was supported by two, almost stubby mechanized legs, which ended in platform style “feet.” Two large arms protruded from either side; the right ending in a rather fearsome automatic cannon, the left in a powerful four-fingered hand, capable of exerting massive amounts of pressure if what he heard was correct. The thicker left arm also held other various utilities, able to swap with the hand as needed, including what looked like a blowtorch, computer jack, and even a rather wicked looking hacksaw, the latter probably capable of a few, cruder uses in warfare. Of course, the MIU was also an intelligence platform, able to receive or even intercept far off transmissions, technology crucial to any sizable force. A very formidable machine indeed.

                    “Captain!” Arriah’s voice projected from the cockpit. “We’re coming up on the Cerberus!”

                   Drinn got up slowly, and began to shuffle back toward the cockpit. As he began walking back up the isle, however, I soldier to his right cleared his throat loudly.

                   “Captain, I’m not sure if you remember me…” The speaker piped up, the soldier who had jumped earlier. Drinn thought he might refer to him as jumpy in his head.

                   “Sorry…Jintley.” The name barely came to mind. “Can’t say I recall.”

                   “Oh, well I worked under you on that scouting mission some two years back over Drogue. I was one of the interception operatives.”

                   Ah, Drogue. That had been a dull operation. Drinn had headed a small craft in orbit for nearly two weeks, intercepting transmissions from a group of radicals there.

                   “Ah yes, you were the quiet one.” Drinn recalled. He had been jumpy back then as well. Jintley smiled, apparently pleased. Drinn would have guessed the man didn’t get out much.

                   Turning back toward the cockpit, he straddled through, wondering if he’d have any more mediocre surprises awaiting him.

                   Arriah acknowledged him with a glance, her gray eyes looking somewhat ghostly in the dim light. Her gaze immediately back to the windshield.

                   Drinn’s followed as well. Beyond the skiff, only a few kilometers away, loomed the Cerberus. Although far from the largest ship in the Federation’s arsenal, she was a fair size, ranking a class C. Size had nothing to do with the ship’s value, however. A defense line, it was capable of projecting and maintaining massive energy shields to protect other ships. The ship itself was over two-hundred meters long and a rough diameter of around fifty. It’s somewhat rounded hull was a forlorn gray from their current angle, though Drinn imagined the opposite side was brilliantly bright, with the sunlight reflecting off like a mirror.

                   “According to the sensors, she’s still sleeping in orbit” Arriah stated, concentration on the controls. The ship became ever closer, taking up a good half of the view. Drinn watched as it eclipsed the last rays of the sun, throwing its shadow over the skiff. The power-tinted windshield kept the cockpit from growing darker however.

                   A large chunk of the ship had been blown off the back end, as though large creature and taken a bite out of it. Unfortunately for the Cerberus, that had included a good portion of the jump drive, leaving it stranded in the Shinar system.

         “Preparing docking procedures,” Arriah announced for protocol. “I’ll be docking on the dark side.” She then turned toward the captain and gave him a rather warming smile. “Well, I guess this is good luck captain. But in case you’re luckless, do be careful.” Drinn simply nodded, trying to remember that smile. Absolutely charming.

                   “I’ll keep in touch. And make sure those bloody sensors work. You said they were being a bit testy.”

                   “Got ‘ya sir. I’ll do my best.”

                   Satisfied, Drinn left the cockpit and entered the hold. Every man sat attentively, eyes on the captain. At the back was Marks strapping himself into his MIU, now split wide open down the front. He had shed his jacket, and was wearing a black operative’s suit, designed to detect even the smallest muscle movement, granting the pilot pinpoint control over its movements. Making eye contact, he raised his eyebrow as though an odd salute, and must’ve hit a switch somewhere within the suit, as the machine began to engulf him. Drinn heard a small hiss as it closed with a small thud.

                   “All right men, time to move out.”

                   “HOO-RAH!” The men’s shout coincided perfectly with a large jolt as the ship docked with the Cerberus.